


Queen of Hearts and a Ten Dollar Bill

by isaytheenay



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaytheenay/pseuds/isaytheenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Semi AU: Logan is clueless about the Thieve's Guild and isn't aware that he really shouldn't be picking fights with the prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Logan didn’t know how he stumbled upon this particular bar, but he didn’t want to go searching out for another. This may’ve been the only place that wasn’t overcrowded with loud, obnoxious young adults, shouting across the bar for more shots or shoving people around. Logan hated being surrounded by too many people as it was.

He settled in the far corner, watching the table that gathered a small group of people for a game of poker. Logan observed quietly; he was never one for card games. He’d never been any good at them, really. Still, he enjoyed looking on from the sidelines, interested in how people would play their hands. There was a long moment of silence, and he along with everyone else watched the players fold and show their cards, groaning as the dealer revealed a winning hand. They all threw the cards in defeat, the dealer pulling his winnings towards himself. “As much as everyone would enjoy more of a show tonight,” he started, his Cajun accent heavy in his voice, “dis man has ot’er plans tonight.”

He stood, holding his hand out and collecting the money from the bets. Logan noticed one man try and slide away, slipping into the crowd, but Logan – by some instinct – reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “Didn’t see you pay up,” Logan said lowly, and the man instantly looked panicked. It only worsened as another man approached, dressed in a black trench coat and some shades. He was nearly a foot taller than Logan with a strong physique, and an expression that made it very clear that the player had better pay, or else.

“N-no, please, I-I’ll…” the man stuttered, fishing into his pocket for his wallet, nearly hyperventilating as he couldn’t find it. The dealer came around then, holding up a slim black leather wallet. The man didn’t appear in the least bit relieved.

“Remy’s got it, mon ami,” he said, then handed it back to the man. He also held up the man’s cash, tipping it towards him with gratitude. “T’ank you fo’ yo’ contribution to our game tonight.” He made a gesture to the man in the black coat, who led the whimpering player out front. Logan didn’t want to think about what was happening to him.

“He’ll be fine,” Remy said, now smirking at Logan. His eyes slowly traveled down his body before meeting his eyes again. “He jus’ gon’ learn dat we don’ tolerate dose who don’ pay up.” He stepped closer to Logan, right in his personal space, and took a ten dollar bill from the wad of cash he just collected. “Dis, mon ami,” he said slowly, his voice low, “is fo’ yo’ troubles.” His hand traveled down Logan’s chest and towards the front pocket on his jeans. Tugging on his pocket – with the clear intention of pulling their bodies nearly together – he slowly slipped the bill inside. Logan knew for a fact that he wasn’t breathing.

“T’ank you, monsieur,” he smirked, leaning in _very_ close, so close that Logan could feel his breath on his cheek.

And before he realized it, he had stepped back, his back to him as he walked out of the bar.

Logan took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He was far too sober to think about what had just happened right then.

“Got your wallet?”

Logan was snapped out of his thoughts by a voice nearly. He recognized him as one of the players at the table. “What?”

“Do you have your wallet?”

He frowned, confused. He checked his jacket, making sure his wallet was there. “Well, yeah, I—”

… Oh shit.

He turned on his heel, realizing that that damned Cajun _bastard_ had stolen his fucking wallet. “God _damnit_ ,” he cursed, running out of the bar after him. The men were laughing as he left, realizing that once again, Remy LeBeau had caught another sucker.

\----------

Logan never found Remy that night. He bet he ran around half of New Orleans looking for that bastard, trying to catch him and beat the living shit out of him for stealing his money. Now all he had was a ten dollar bill, which he looked at his pure loathing as he reentered his motel room. Luckily he paid for the night earlier that day, so he had a bed for now. However, how he was going to get back home on his motorcycle with just ten dollars and no ID was beyond him.

When he woke the next day, he knew he had to find Remy, no matter how long it took. He spent the earlier part of the day, asking around about him. To his surprise, most people knew who he was talking about, but just as many people didn’t _want_ to talk about him.

One man, bitter about being struck by the thief as well, managed to give him a little more insight. Remy was in some Guild, one that protected him in his time here. Logan asked him where Remy could be tonight. The man only laughed and said Logan would be lucky if he was even in the state anymore.

Annoyed and bitter, he clutched the ten dollar bill in his pocket throughout the day, looking for any sort of hint as to where he’d be. It wasn’t until much later in the evening, around ten o’clock, when he overheard some people talking about losing in a game of poker.

“I swear,” one man said, leaning heavily on his friend, obviously too drunk to see straight, “th-that fucker cheated!”

“You’ll get your money back,” a girl said, consoling him. It was all Logan needed to know. He jogged across the street and approached them, asking where they’d just come from. Following the girl’s instructions (along with her warning of, ‘he never loses, ever’), he found the small building she’d mentioned, a French name glowing in bright neon green lights above the door. Two men who resembled the bodyguard-like man from the night before stood beside each door. Logan didn’t even look up at them as he walked inside, the bar similar to the one from the night before. He approached the bar and sat right in front of the bartender, looking around for any familiar faces.

“You wan’ somet’ing?”

Logan looked up at the man, thinking for a moment. “Yeah. You know any Remy LeBeau?”

The bartender stopped what he was doing for a moment, tensing. “What’s it t’ you?”

“Look, the guy owes me money. I just wanna settle the deal.”

“If you’re gonna kill ‘im, I’ll wish you good luck.” Logan didn’t have time to think over his words before the bartender looked over to the opposite end of the bar. “Dere’s a room back dere, where people play poker. You’ll find ‘im dere.”

Logan nodded once in appreciation, though there was a tight knot in his gut now. He wasn’t afraid of this Remy guy, but he sure as hell didn’t want to die tonight. Not before getting his wallet back, at least.

He pushed through the door in the bar, the room much quieter as the door shut. He stood by silently, watching as Remy dealt out the cards, looking eagerly at the men around him, his smug expression never wavering. One man threw his cards in the moment he was given them.

“Mon frère, I give,” he said, clapping a hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy’s smile widened into a grin, and he finally decided to put the men out of their misery.

“Don’ bot’er yo’selves.” He showed his hand, and the men cursed, but laughed as well, and Remy accepted the winnings happily. Logan wasn’t sure who these people were, but they appeared very close.

“Oh, mon fils, you getting’ better each damn time we play,” another man said, pride filling his voice. He was tall like Remy, his hair pulled back into a single braid, wearing a trench coat just like Remy’s. He rounded the table and put an arm around Remy’s shoulders, pulling him close. Remy grinned up at him, almost like a son would look up at his father. Logan wondered what their relationship was, exactly.

“Remy learns from de best.” He folded his cash and stashed it away, finally catching sight of Logan. His smile didn’t waver; if anything, it had broadened. “Mon ami!” He pulled away from the man and walked over to Logan, grasping his shoulders firmly. “What brings you back so soon?”

Logan glanced at his hand on his shoulder, pushing it away with refrained annoyance. “I’m here for my money, Remy.”

Remy tilted his head to one side, his expression confused. “Remy apologizes, but… he’s confused about what you mean.” One of the men took a step forward, but without a glance back, Remy waved his hand dismissively.

“You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about,” Logan growled. “Last night when you came up and got real close and comfortable, you stole my wallet. I want it back.”

“Oh, cher, Remy didn’ see you complainin’ about it last night when he was close an’ comfortable wit’ you,” he said, smirking knowingly. Damn him to hell, Logan thought.

“Yeah, that was before I realized you took all my money.” Logan took a step forward, and despite being shorter than him, he sure as hell wasn’t afraid to get close to him. Remy didn’t take it as a threat like Logan hoped he would; if anything, he _enjoyed_ it.

“It was righ’ dere, mon ami, callin’ out to me to take it to a better place,” he said, his eyes once again leaving Logan’s in favor of wandering over his lips, his neck, and basically any other part of him that was exposed. A few men behind Remy laughed; the man Remy had hugged before wasn’t smiling as much as the others. "Remy was jus’ tryin’ to relieve its poor burden.”

Logan growled, and before he realized what he was doing, he grabbed Remy by his shirt, fisting it and turning him to shove him against the door behind him. Now some of the men stepped forward and were right behind Logan, pressing something against his head. He didn’t need to look to know that the two pistols were ready to fire.

“Mes amis, men frères, please,” he said raising his hands in surrender. “Dis man only wants his money.”

The men behind Remy didn’t pull their guns back. Logan kept his eyes on Remy’s, not daring to make another move.

“Remy has it, here,” he gestured to the inside of his coat pocket. “You can get it yo’self.”

Logan watched him carefully, trying to determine if he was lying. With a man so trained in remaining calm and collected, it would probably be impossible to know. He slowly lowered one hand, reaching towards the pocket inside of his jack. Just as he turned his eyes away for one moment, Remy quickly moved, seizing Logan’s hand that still held his shirt and twisting it behind his back. He turned Logan against the very door he’d been shoved against, slamming Logan’s face into the wooden door. Logan cried out, growling through his grit teeth at the realization that he’d been bested by a man that must’ve been at _least_ ten years younger than him. He hadn’t even seen him move.

“Oh cher,” he sighed, keeping Logan in place with his grasp firm on his wrist. Logan wriggled a bit beneath him, cursing over and over. “Remy really does like you... most men don’ fight back against him. It’s nice fo’ a change now an’ again, non?” He pressed his body close against Logan’s, resting his chin on Logan’s shoulder. “Still… he got dat money from you fair n’ square.”

“Fair and— you fucking _stole_ it from me!”

“Apples and oranges, mon ami.” Logan could hear the smugness returning to his voice. “Now, Remy gon’ let you go, because he don’ need his men to teach you to leave dis Cajun alone.”

Logan scoffed. “You’ve gotta be kidding m— fuck!” Remy twisted on his arm again, making Logan grunt in pain.

“Please, don’ make dis harder dan it already has to be.” Remy reached into his coat with his free hand, watching Logan carefully. He was probably just as strong as he was judging by his mere appearance; he didn’t want to risk losing control of him.

Logan thought to himself for a few moments, not willing to test this kid anymore. He was clearly protected at all angles, and suddenly it made sense; he had to have some sort of significant power in this Guild. With all the men guarding him, how could he not be important? Looking back at Remy, he managed to ask, “Who the hell are you, anyways?”

Remy laughed lightly. “De name’s Remy LeBeau, cher.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know _that…_ ”

“Den why did you ask?” He asked innocently, though Logan knew damn well he was merely fucking with him.

“I mean, who are you in your little Guild?”

Remy looked impressed. “You know dat much already? Remy didn’ take you fo’ a detective type. More like some rogue cop who couldn’t take no fo’ an answer—”

“Would you answer the damn question?!”

“Alrigh’, alrigh’, sheesh.” Remy rolled his eyes. “Fo’ yo’ info’mation, Remy happens to be de prince of de Guild.”

… Oh shit. Again.

“An’ he don’ take kindly to dose who t’reaten him in front o’ his family. Dey don’ like it dat much, and believe Remy, mon ami, dey will do far more damage to you dan only Remy could.”

Logan felt a hint of panic rise within him, realizing that this kid may be serious, and let his family back there beat him half to death (or hell, even completely to death). He’s _really_ messed with the wrong guy this time. He closed his eyes, holding his breath, but without warning, he was released. He craned his neck and looked back, unsure if he should stay put or try and make a run for it now while the Guild was standing by.

After a long silence, Remy smiled again. That easy-going, charming smile that Logan couldn’t help feeling a bit comforted by. “But like Remy said… he likes you. And he don’ wanna ruin de night for his family by getting’ in a fight.” He reached around Logan and opened the door for him, letting Logan lead the way out. Remy passed a look back to the men in the room, nodding once and turning around to follow him out.

Guiding out to the front of the bar, Remy stepped outside with him, holding up Logan’s wallet with a smirk. He held it out to him, snatching it back once when Logan initially reached for it, then laughed and passed it along. “Dere you are, cher.” He smiled back up at Logan, sincere. “Good as it was when Remy picked it up. You should be more careful when walkin’ around dis town.”

“What, do I have to chain it to my leg or something?”

“Dat’s one option.”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, uh,” he started awkwardly, taking a step back. “Thanks for giving back my stolen wallet, I guess.”

Remy grinned. “Anytime, cher.” He turned on his heel, then turned again and said, “Make sure you check dat all de money’s dere.”

Logan gave him a suspicious look and pulled out his wallet again, looking inside. He found not only all of his money, but an extra three hundred dollars, along with a playing card. It was a queen of hearts, with scrawled writing over it: ‘Next time you in town, come find Remy.’

Logan grinned, stowing the card away and looking up. Remy, of course, was gone, but Logan was sure it wouldn’t be too long before they saw each other again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year and Logan's back in New Orleans. He's paying for a drink in a bar when he notices the old, battered playing card still tucked into his wallet.

The streets looked exactly the same to Logan. Endless crowds of young people, all drinking and partying and enjoying life. Logan had quickly ditched the loud noise and music, finding himself a small bar to enjoy his time in. Quiet had, and always would be, what he would choose over anything else.

He sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, same as usual. He didn’t intend on drinking that much, so he paid then, not willing to start a tab just yet. Pulling out the change he had, he grabbed a few ones and tossed them at the bartender. He took a long sip and relished the burn as he always did. Somehow, whiskey always hit the spot better than any other drink. He turned on his seat and looked around, his eyes wandering over the patrons. Only when the bartender cleared his throat did Logan turn and set down his glass.

“Found dis,” he said, lifting up a playing card. The edges were weathered and one corner was bent pretty badly. Despite it, the writing on the face of the card was clear. Logan memorized it long ago.

He reached out and grabbed the card, muttering a ‘thanks’ before he stuffed it back into his wallet. He nearly put the wallet away, but stopped himself, reading over the card again. He traced over the graceful writing and smiled softly to himself, reminiscing over the last time he’d been in New Orleans. Remy LeBeau, prince of the Thieves Guild, and the man who let him go all because he liked him.

“Hey,” Logan called, and the bartender came over, classically cleaning out a glass. “You know where I can find Remy LeBeau?”

The bartender thought for a moment. “Remy ain’t been seen aroun’ here fo’ a while.”

Logan nodded, his eyes dropping to the card again. Disappointment twisted in his stomach. The bartender clearly saw it too, and quickly added, “But dat don’ mean he ain’ here.”

Again, he nodded. Managing a smile, the bartender was on his way, serving other customers. Logan wondered just where he’d even find a guy like Remy. He’d spent an entire day searching for only his _name_ , and it was mere luck he’d overheard on a drunk who lost out on all of his money to the thief. The chances of that happening again were practically nonexistent.

He drank the whiskey morosely, wishing there was some easy way to find the Cajun again. He’d curse him for being so hard to find, but then again, he _was_ a prince; that had to mean he had enemies out and about in the world. Nevertheless, there had to be some way he could find him without having to ask any drunks if they’d been cheated by an apparent master poker player.

He glanced over at the poker table, getting an idea. Downing the rest of his drink, he stood and pocketed his wallet, keeping a firm grasp on it, keeping Remy’s words in mind. He didn’t have a chain, but keeping a hold on it would probably work just as well. The men at the table were starting up a new game, bets being placed and cards being dealt. Logan watched like he had when he first saw Remy, though there was a severe lacking of a sinfully attractive man at the head of the table. A shame, really.

The game came and went, and Logan decided to intervene now while they all had a moment to talk. “And of you know where I can find Remy?”

“Why, gon’ challenge him to a game o’ poker?” One man laughed, and the others joined in.

Logan didn’t crack a smile. “I might.”

“He hasn’t been in dis bar fo’ a few weeks, my friend,” the dealer said, passing a sympathetic look. “You probably won’ find him here. He’d gotten into too much trouble wit’ de bartender to be allowed to stay.”

Logan could only imagine what he’d done to get kicked out. He smirked to himself at the thought, but quickly shook his head. “Look, I just need a guess. Any place you wanna recommend I hit so I can get some answers about where he is?”

One player shrugged. “You may try de bar down de street. Right on the corner.” He pointed towards it, and Logan saw which corner he was talking about through the window. “Dere’s some high-class guys Remy may wanna get some money out of.”

Logan nodded. “Thanks.” He turned and headed out into the cool night air. The crossed the street and approached the other bar. He wondered in the back of his mind just how many bars were on this street. He supposed it would make Remy all the harder to find. He’d be sure to give him hell about how much time he’d spent looking for him.

He didn’t want waste time by ordering another drink and chatting with the bartender. If he was going to spend his entire night looking for him (he probably would judging by the last time he came around town looking for him), he may as well not bother with small-talk.  “Hey, is Remy LeBeau here?”

The bartender gave him a once over, probably bound to give him the same shit the last bartender gave him. Warning him about Remy, telling him that he should be carefully, and so on. Logan didn’t need to hear it, and he certainly didn’t need this kid’s scrutiny on top of it. Logan growled, quickly losing patience with him. “Hey, bub,” he snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Up here. Remy. Where is he.”

“He’s not here,” he man said defiantly. “If he were here, I wouldn’t tell you, either.”

Logan bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to take a deep breath. First impressions were everlasting, apparently. “Right, well, thanks for your time.” He turned on his heel, not sure where to go from here. He had to find Remy. Only problem was, where the hell was he?

He started to walk towards the exit, but right as he neared the door, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Logan whipped around, his fist alredy clenched. It wasn’t Remy, but Logan certainly recognized him.

His hair wasn’t in a braid, but it was pulled back again, still resting over a black trench coat. Logan remembered how he’d pulled Remy close and called him ‘mon fils’; some term of endearment, Logan figured. “You’re de man, from a year ago, non? Remy gave you yo’ wallet back.”

“Yeah,” he said warily, unsure if this was another stroke of luck or a terrible coincidence. The man seemed nice enough, but of course, Logan couldn’t be so sure. “How do you even remember…”

“Remy never gives back what he takes. He could’ve very easily had de family take care o’ you.”

“Thanks,” Logan said half-heartedly.

“Dat was de highest of compliments on his part, mon ami.” He gestured towards the doors. “Le’s speak somewhere mo’ private.” He led the way out, Logan at his heels, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into. The last thing he needed was being shot at point blank for asking about Remy.

The man began to walk down the street and Logan fell into step beside him, his hands still shoved in his pocket. Wallet, check. “So,” he started, unsure what to say. “How do you know Remy…?”

The man laughed lightly, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He held the package to Logan, who declined. “Remy is mon fils,” he said, taking a deep breath and breathing out the smoke. “He is my boy.”

Logan’s confusion switched to surprise. Well, this wasn’t exactly how he intended on meeting the parents.

He smiled at Logan’s expression. “I am de Guild patriarch, Jean-Luc LeBeau.” He held out a hand to Logan, who took it, shaking it.

“Logan,” he said.

Jean-Luc continued. “As you know, Remy’s de prince of de Guild. Heir to be de next patriarch, after I’m gone.”

Logan nodded, understanding. “I wanted to find him again. I sorta… promised I’d find him when I came back.” He felt his face heat up when he admitted that. That probably held far too many implications behind it, but Jean-Luc, to his relief, laughed.

“He’s been different since he met you, y’know.” Jean-Luc said thoughtfully. “Been hangin’ aroun’ in bars more dan he used to. Spending an awful amoun’ o’ time in New Orleans. I’ve been tellin’ him he outta get out for a while, but he won’t. I expect now, he’s been waitin’ up fo’ you. Dis is probably de longest he’s ever stayed.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a while...” He sighed. “Why does he have to leave town all the time?”

“Technically, Remy ain’ supposed to be here. Long story, mon ami,” he waved his hand dismissively at Logan’s curious expression. He knew if Remy wanted to tell him, he would know soon enough. Finally, Jean-Luc stopped at a house, one that looked completely ordinary compared to the rest of them. “I suppose I oughta stop yankin’ on yo’ chain and tell you where he is.” He guided Logan up the stairs to the porch, knocking twice on the door. “Dis is a safe house for our Guild. Remy stays here since it’s closest to de city.” Someone opened the door, letting Jean-Luc inside. He explained something to the man in French, and Logan was led inside not a moment later.

Jean-Luc led him downstairs, into a room where a few men were – of course – playing poker. One man looked up from the couch and gave Logan a curious look, but when Jean-Luc, waved his hand, the man stood and walked out, no questions asked. Jean-Luc held his arm out and gestured for Logan to walk inside.

Logan pulled out his wallet, wanting to at least offer something to deal in with. Maybe Remy wouldn’t mind another player. He pulled up a chair directly across from him. Remy, currently, was busy counting his earnings and stowing them away. He pulled out a new deck and shuffled. “New player?” He asked, and Logan smirked, sure he’s heard him moving the chair around. “Can I deal you in?”

“Yeah,” Logan said, and immediately, Remy stopped shuffling. “What can I get for, uh… ten bucks?” He slid the ten dollar bill over the table, the very same one Remy had given to him on the night they met. “Also, I think you’re missing a card in one of your decks...” He tapped the bill; on top of it was the queen of hearts.

Remy looked at the bill and the card, reading his own writing on the face of it. A grin slowly spread across his face and he looked up, meeting Logan’s matching grin. “I don’ know if I can accept this, monsieur,” he drawled, his expression feigning contemplation.

“C’mon,” Logan urged, “I thought you liked me?”

Remy grinned even more, if it were possible. “Dat’s very true… Remy does like you a great deal.” He let Logan take back the ten dollar bill, but took the card for himself, stowing it into his coat pocket. “I t’ink dis game is between him and I, mes frères, Remy hopes you understand.” The men around Logan nodded and stood, Out in the hallway, Jean-Luc beckoned them all out, quietly shutting the door behind them. “I’m gon’ need a name, cher,” he said, his attention on Logan again.

He smirked, taking his cards that Remy dealt. “Logan.”

“Logan,” he said, smiling to himself. “Well, Logan, Remy hopes you know how to play poker.”

Of course he didn’t, but it was completely okay. It wasn’t like they were completely paying attention to the cards anyways. Remy shifted in his seat, apparently folding his leg over the other, but it didn’t surprise Logan that much when Remy’s foot bumped against his knee. “You been here long, cher?” Remy asked, moving the cards in his hand around a bit.

“Just today,” Logan replied. “Found the card in my wallet, and… well, I figured I oughta find you. After all, it’s sorta a promise, isn’t it?”

Remy looked surprised; a very good surprised, though. “Oui, cher. A promise.”

“Your dad tells me you’ve been waiting around for a while.”

Remy smiled at that. “Oui, dat’s also true.”

“You’ve been waiting up for me, huh?” Logan smirked at him, an eyebrow raised.

Remy grinned, his eyes set pointedly at his cards. “Perhaps…” One look up at Logan and he knew it was just a bit more than ‘perhaps’. He gently brushed his foot against Logan’s leg again, his expression innocent. He inclined his head – partially just to expose more of his neck to Logan – and said, “Show ‘em.”

Logan had a random assortment of cards. Remy smirked, flattened his cards on the table, and revealed a perfect assortment of ascending values: a ten through an ace. In the middle, a familiar queen of hearts.

“S’pose dat means Remy’s won dis game, non?” He stood, and Logan followed. Remy rounded the table, his hand running over the smooth wood of the edge. “Dat’ll be ten dollars, Logan,” he said, his eyes fixed on Logan’s.

“A bet’s a bet.” Logan reached forward, and just like Remy did last time, he grabbed the front pocket on his trousers and pulled him close, slipping the ten dollar bill inside his pocket. This time, they didn’t pull away from one another. “Anything else?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in anticipation.

“I can t’ink of somt’ing…” As if on the same cue, Remy reached up and grabbed Logan’s jacket while Logan brought his arm around and pulled him in by his shoulders, bringing them together in a fierce kiss. Logan’s hands came up and slid into his hair, tugging lightly and making Remy moan. Neither of them realized when Remy’s hair came undone and spilled over his back and shoulders, only that it had happened and there was nothing that could be done. Logan, so completely lost in Remy, barely felt him pushing at his shoulders, turning him so he was pressed against the table they’d just played at. His hands that were resting over his chest were quickly sliding down over his abdomen, tracing Logan’s defined muscles with his fingers. A strong shiver traveled up Logan’s spine and he clutched tighter at Remy, growling low in his throat.

Remy nipped at his lip and pulled back, tugging on his lip and moving in again to gain access. Logan more than complied, letting their tongues stroke over one another’s, exploring and learning, along with a few more bites here and there. Remy impatiently pushed Logan’s jacket over his shoulders, tossing it back carelessly onto the table, his long fingers tugging on the hem of his white tank top and revealing more skin. He pressed his hands against the intense warmth that radiated from him, dragging his nails slightly over his skin.

Logan quickly spun them around, shoving Remy back against the table, his body pressed possessively against his. His hands finally slid away from Remy’s hair and traveled down his sides and over his hips. He moved them lower and Remy followed his lead, allowing himself to be lifted and set on the poker table. Instinctively, his sinfully long legs hooked around Logan’s waist and pulled him closer. With a subtle roll of his hips, he was grinding against Logan, breaking their kiss to breathe and moan his name.

Logan muttered something, likely a curse, and moved in to attack Remy’s neck, his teeth biting into the exposed flesh and leaving dark-colored marks on his skin. Remy moaned and tightened his legs even more around Logan, his breathing much heavier. “Mon Logan,” he murmured, disposing of his trench coat and pushing him back only for a moment to pull up on his shirt. Logan was kissing down his neck and over his chest, his tongue tracing the strong muscles that lay just beneath his toned skin. He felt Remy’s hand gently cup his face, and with a low rasp of ‘s’il vous plaît’, his lips traveled back up over his neck, his jaw, and finally to his lips, kissing him deeply and passionately again.

They broke apart after another minute or so, both of them completely breathless. Remy’s left shoulder was littered with bright red marks that would soon bruise, while Logan’s shoulders and chest bore a number of long scratches from Remy’s nails. In the brief pause, Logan’s eyes lowered from Remy’s eyes, his hands now resting on his knees but sliding up along his thighs. Remy’s breath held in anticipation, he swallowed thickly, leaning in and capturing Logan’s lips in another kiss, his moan muffled when Logan’s hands reached their destination. Remy’s spine arched sharply and he gripped tightly at Logan’s shoulders, forcing himself to pull back for a moment. “C-couch,” he muttered, tilted his head over towards it. Logan saw it and without even hesitating, picked up Remy and carried him over, dropping him somewhat-gently as soon as they arrived.

Remy was already unbuttoning his own jeans when Logan crawled over him, his hands leaving the job half finished to weave into his hair. “Wan’ you, cher,” he murmured breathlessly, propping himself up on his elbow to kiss Logan again. “Mon dieu, Logan… don’ leave Remy tonight.” He soon moved to lie back again, pulling Logan down and kissing him just as passionately as before. Logan’s body pressed over his, his hands slid between them, finishing what Remy started.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere tonight, Remy.” He said softly, and Remy couldn’t help the wide grin that spread over his face. 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts completed on tumblr. I was provoked to post them here. As to not face the wrath, I did just that.


End file.
